Aperture
by xerxia31
Summary: Everlark college AU. Written in 2017 for burkygirl on Tumblr.


I shift my bag further up on my shoulder as I fish around in my pocket, finally extracting a deckle-edged piece of notebook paper and squinting at the messy scrawl on it.

Panem Arms, 12E.

This is a swankier hotel than I've ever been in before, the carpeting under my feet plush and pristine, high quality reproductions in expensive frames lining the corridor.

The room I'm looking for is in the corner, the door propped partially open, revealing an opulent space with a full wall of windows. My bag thumps against the heavy wood as I shove the door open a little wider, and a voice floats towards me from somewhere deeper in the suite. "Peeta? Is that you?"

"Yeah," I call back, wandering fully into the room. It's bigger than my entire apartment, tastefully furnished in sleek leather and warm wood. It occurs to me for half a moment to wonder how she can afford this place, before I snicker to myself. There's no way Johanna Mason has paid a dime. She's a master of getting people to give her whatever she wants.

Which is why I'm here.

Setting my bag and tripod on a glass table that probably cost more than my tuition, I wander over to the windows, a full wall, floor to ceiling. The view is phenomenal, but more importantly, the light flooding in this afternoon is gorgeous, warm and golden. Say what you will about Johanna, she's got a great eye for photography locations.

"Find the place okay?" I spin at the sound of Jo's voice right behind me, the thick carpeting having masked her footfalls, allowing her to sneak up on me. Then I do a double take. I've known Jo for more than three years, we've had classes together at Panem U and have a few mutual friends. I should be accustomed to her habit of wandering around only barely clothed by now. "Put your tongue back in your face, Breadboy," she smirks.

"Put your tits back in your top, Mason," I chuckle, and she laughs too.

"Hey, I paid a fortune for these," she says, cupping what are indeed a very nice pair of boobs encased in two nearly transparent lace triangles. "I've gotta get my money's worth." I roll my eyes. Jo's okay, but so not my type.

"Is that what I'm supposed to be photographing you in?" Johanna is a fashion design major, and I'm here to do a shoot of her latest clothing project. I'm still not certain how she managed to convince me to give up my Saturday afternoon, but here I am.

"You're not photographing me at all," she says, sashaying away towards a door at the other end of the room. "I already told you, my roommate is modelling. I don't need Professor Plutarch pulling his pud over pictures of me." I shudder a little at the thought.

"But it's okay for him to leer at your roommate?"

She shrugs. "Brainless is a science major, she's never going to meet the man."

"You're cruel, Jo," I call after her retreating figure, and she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder.

"She fits better in the outfits, okay?" Jo screws up her face in distaste. "She's got an ass like a twelve-year-old boy, and vegan leather is expensive." I have to bite my cheek not to laugh out loud. Classic Jo.

I set up my tripod so that the window will be the backdrop for our photoshoot, and lose myself in erecting the light stand and reflectors I brought along. Though I'm technically a business major, my minor in photography gives me ample excuse to buy nice studio equipment.

When Jo emerges from the other room again some ten minutes later, I'm making a last few adjustments with my handheld light meter. This time, she's a whirlwind of sound and sputtering, a flannel shirt tossed over her shoulders, though still not buttoned up. "Forgot the damned bustier," she groans, twirling a set of keys around her finger.

A soft snicker catches my attention and I glance up from my work. Standing beside Jo is a ghost, a dream, a vision that can't possibly be real.

Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss Everdeen, the girl I've had a crush on since I was barely out of diapers, star of practically every wet dream I've ever had. Katniss Everdeen who, last I knew, was still back in our hometown, attending the local college. I haven't seen her in sixty-seven days, since the last time she came into my family's bakery before I left for my senior year of school. She ordered two cheese buns, and I'd managed about ten words in her presence, an eight word improvement over the previous visit.

Not that I was counting.

"Breadboy, this is my roomie-"

"Katniss?" My voice is an embarrassing little squeak of awe, and she nods at me. I think I'm going to die.

"Hey, Peeta," she says in that smoky smooth bourbon voice, nonchalant, as if we've been buds forever. I'm definitely dead.

I was on the debating team in high school and served as class president. I excel at making presentations and have been described as charming and persuasive. I am, by all accounts, a confident, articulate man. Except where Katniss is concerned. I've always been terribly intimidated by her, by that scowl and those sharp silver eyes, not to mention the omnipresent boyfriend she had all through high school. Though the boyfriend has been gone awhile, my awkwardness around Katniss has only gotten worse. As more and more time passes without me being able to conjure up a word, it gets harder to think of anything I could possibly say or do to change that. And it certainly doesn't help that she's incredibly hot. Just her presence turns me into the shy little boy I used to be.

"You know each other?" Jo's stops her stomping long enough to look between Katniss and me with a confused expression. "You don't have any classes over in our building?" she says to Katniss.

"Peeta and I grew up together," Katniss says, while I stand there, mouth open like a fish out of water.

"Oh did you?" An almost evil little smile curls Jo's lip. I have no doubt she can see fifteen years of unrequited longing for her roommate written all over my face. Hell, they can probably see it from Mars. "Well I left the top part of Brainless's outfit in my car, so she's practically naked under that robe." I hazard a glance at Katniss; she's shooting daggers at a clearly bemused Johanna. "You two entertain each other while I'm gone." Then Jo winks at me.

I'm never going to live this down.

But it doesn't matter, because Katniss Everdeen is standing in front of me, wearing a thick, white hotel robe, her lush ebony hair spilling in soft curls over her shoulders. Though I've known her most of my life, I don't think I've ever seen her with her hair down like this. It's exquisite. My hands itch to touch her, to paint her, to capture the way the amber light crowns her in fire. 

She clears her throat; only then do I realize I've been gawking. "I, uh. I thought you were going to college back in Twelve?" I ask, my voice a little more even.

"Prim's here this year," she says, referring to her little sister, the reason she stayed behind in our dinky hometown while everyone else got out of there. Katniss's dad died when we were in sixth grade, and the whole town knows her mother isn't right in the head. So it shocked no one when Katniss - smart, studious Katniss - stayed in Twelve instead of accepting any one of the scholarships she was offered. She's been more of a parent than a sister for years. "She got a full scholarship, so I transferred here from Seam College."

"You're letting Prim live with Johanna?" Katniss scowls, and I have to fight not to physically recoil. For five-foot-nothing, she's awfully scary.

"Absolutely not," she says, and I grin, she's so indignant, like I've insulted her common sense. "Prim is in the freshmen dorms. I wanted to be nearby, so my cousin introduced me to Jo."

"What's it like, living with Jo?"

Katniss wrinkles her nose. "She's a little clothing-averse." I bark out a laugh, and Katniss glances up at me through her eyelashes. How have I never noticed before how thick and full they are? "But she's tidy and she pays her bills, so I can't complain much. How, um, how do you know Jo? I thought you were a business major."

Something hot flares in my gut at the idea that Katniss Everdeen knows what I'm majoring in. "I, uh, wow, yeah. I am. But I'm minoring in photography." She nods.

"Makes sense, you've always been so artistic." I have been, but I'm shocked she noticed. She frowns. "Well of course I noticed, you designed the yearbook cover in senior year, and your dad's bakery is full of your paintings." My face heats up as I realize I said that out loud. How can I simultaneously be unable to speak and unable to prevent myself from speaking to this girl?

This woman.

It takes me another awkward moment to answer. "Uh, right. Sorry, that came out wrong." I shake my head, ready to slink away and hide behind my camera. But then Katniss does something completely unexpected.

She smiles at me.

It's a small smile, more bemused than anything. But it's glorious. And it's for me.

And I relax a little. "Sorry," I mumble again. "I wasn't expecting…" I trail off, waving my hand vaguely.

"Oh," she says, expression shuttering. "Right. You were probably expecting Glimmer."

"Who?" I ask, distracted by the annoyance I can see creeping onto her beautiful face, how this perfectly kissable little line forms between her brows.

"Jo's friend. The blonde?" I shrug, Johanna has a ton of friends and I'm sure half of them are blonde. Katniss huffs. "She knows who you are." There's something in the tone of her voice that snaps me out of my stupor.

"I thought Jo was going to be modelling her own designs actually."

"She has a boyfriend." Now I'm the one wrinkling my forehead. Why would I care who Jo is with this week?

"What?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, looking at me sympathetically. "A few months now." That pity on her face confuses the hell out of me. Surely she doesn't think…

"We're just friends," I blurt.

Katniss cocks her head curiously. "But you were hoping…?"

"No," I laugh. "Johanna's not my type." I run my hand across the back of my neck, roughly, fighting the heat rising there. "I was actually dreading this, until you walked in." Katniss still looks confused. Fuck it, I need to grow a pair. "I've always wanted to talk with you, Katniss."

Silence stretches between us, twists my guts. Finally she laughs, just softly. "Seriously, Peeta? I've come into your father's bakery twice a week all summer and every break since high school finished. You could have talked to me any of those times."

I feel like an idiot. "I know."

"Or before, at school, or at the lake, or at one of Madge's parties-"

"I know."

"Then why?" I shrug helplessly. Her lips purse. "You know, you never had any trouble talking to anyone else, mister senior class president."

"Well yeah, but none of them were you!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Fuuuck," I groan, tipping my head back. This is why I don't talk to Katniss. She turns me into a simpering idiot. "I mean they didn't matter, none of them. And you do." I sigh. "I like you, okay?"

She freezes, almost unbreathing, for what feels like an eternity. Then a slow smile steals across her face. "Really?"

"Yeah." I return her smile. It's a relief to finally tell her, and the fact that she hasn't run screaming seems like a good sign.

Behind us, the door crashes open. "Let's do this," Jo barks, stalking towards Katniss and towing her to the other room again.

They're back just a couple of minutes later. I'm making a few adjustments to my set up when I hear them approach. Jo is again in only a bra, but I barely notice. Because Katniss isn't wearing that plush white robe anymore.

I am thanking every deity I've ever heard of - and a few I invent on the spot - for Jo's taste in clothing right now. Because Katniss, gorgeous Katniss, star of nearly every wet dream I've ever had, is wearing little more than a cocktail napkin.

A white vegan leather cocktail napkin.

Though Jo joked about Katniss's participation being an afterthought, it's clear these pieces were made to her measurements. They fit like a second skin, and the ivory colour makes her olive skin glow. The top is little more than a structured undergarment, the skirt a deep breath away from indecent. And wrapped around her legs, stretching from ankle to thigh, the kind of boots that make adolescent boys wake up stuck to the sheets.

Grown men too.

"Holy fuck," I say under my breath.

"Not bad, eh?" Jo preens. I know she's talking about the clothes.

I'm not.

I can barely breathe, barely even blink. But Katniss looks uncomfortable under my ravenous stare. "Well," I rasp in a voice that's not my own. "Shall we begin?"

o-o-o

She's gorgeous, wrapped in that skin-tight faux leather and bathed in the afternoon glow. But fifteen minutes into shooting, it's just not working. Everything about her posture is rigid, self-conscious, the angles wrong, her expression pained. Johanna paces somewhere behind me, making aggravated little noises. Though I try to direct Katniss to position her head or hip differently, nothing seems to help. I've done a lot of shoots over the years, worked with kids and pets and all sorts of subjects that are hard to pose. But none have been more difficult than this, and it makes no sense. Katniss is beautiful, she has to know that, and usually so self-possessed. My frustration mounts, none of this is how I envisioned.

"Dammit, Brainless," Jo's voice rips through the room, startling me. "You're not even trying. If I wanted a freaking mannequin I'd have bought one! You're as stiff as a coathanger, you're making my sexy designs look like Quaker wear!"

With each of Johanna's barbs, Katniss's shoulders climb higher, her frown deepens. Her fingers are white where her hand is wrapped in a death grip around the window's edge. "Jo," I warn, but she cuts me off.

"Do you want me to fail? Is this a jealousy thing because I'm hot?" she taunts, and Katniss bristles, anger flashing in her silver eyes.

"That's it," I growl, and though I keep my voice low, Johanna stops her tirade and looks at me, mouth partly open. "Go for a walk, Johanna, I can't work with you disrupting my session."

"The hell, Mellark, this is my project," she sputters, but I'm already shoving her towards the door.

"Don't care, this is my shoot, and you're killing my vibe." At her hurt expression, I soften my own. "I'll get you good pictures, Jo, you know I will. Trust me to do this my way."

"Fine," she grunts. "I'll be downstairs at the bar. Don't fuck this up, Breadboy." She glances back at Katniss, as if she's going to berate her roommate again, but I close the door between us, preempting any further insults.

For a moment I simply stand, face against the door, breathing away the tension that Jo's interference caused. Then I turn back to Katniss.

Her fire is gone; she looks devastated. "Hey," I say, all of my pique rushing away, replaced only with concern. I creep as close to her as I dare, she's stock-still, looking out over the city, sky just starting to pinken.

"I'm not a model, Peeta," she says quietly, still looking away. "I told her that, over and over. This isn't me." She gestures to the getup that clings to her curves like a second skin. "I'm bony and awkward and plain and this is such a stupid idea."

I huff out a bewildered laugh. "Katniss, you can't be serious. You are stunning."

"I can't do this," she says, not a trace of self-pity in her voice.

"All you have to do it be you," I tell her. "Unscripted." Her lovely brow wrinkles. I reach out a tentative hand, slowly, as if with a spooked horse. But she doesn't bolt. "Trust me," I implore, wrapping a lock of her silken hair around my finger. And she nods.

I take my camera off the tripod and approach her again, needing the intimacy of being close, the serenity of hushed voices. I'll get her comfortable with me with a few headshots, and get the long body shots Jo needs after. "Just relax," I murmur as she watches me warily, arms crossed protectively across her chest. Gently, I guide her to lean a shoulder against the window. "Relax," I breathe again, smoothing her ebony locks over her shoulder. "Tell me why Prim chose Panem U."

Just as I anticipated, her expression softens, her eyes light with happiness. "They have an amazing pre-med program here," she says, and pride is evident in her eyes and in her voice. As as she talks about Prim, about the one person I know she loves above all others, I raise my camera. I've shot off four or five frames before she even notices.

Her expression darkens, and she raises an eyebrow at me. "Look," I tell her with a grin, turning my camera around so that she can see the preview images on the back screen. Her breath leaves in a startled rush.

"How?" she whispers, toggling picture to picture with a shaking fingers. Each depicts her relaxed, smiling softly, bathed in gorgeous golden light, shadows emphasizing her fine bone structure. "You made me look pretty." It's so quiet, I don't even know if she intends me to hear it.

But I do.

"You are pretty. The camera doesn't lie." She wrinkles her nose. But she's smiling, just a little. And I laugh, a relieved sound. "Let's try some longer shots."

With my camera back on the tripod, I hold the shutter release loosely, not hiding it, but not making it the centre of attention either. We talk, and Katniss leans back against the window, relaxed and smiling. I just keep triggering the shutter. Every so often, I'll reposition her, naturally, as easily as guiding a friend through a doorway. The faux leather pieces glow in the late light, curving over a jutted hip, sweeping over the soft swell of breast. With her guard down, each picture is perfect, sensual but with a purity that elevates them to something special.

For as many times as I've imagined myself interacting with Katniss, I couldn't have pictured this. How natural it feels to speak with her, how right. She's everything I fantasized, and yet so completely different too. I'd always thought she was intimidating, but I can see now that she's simply reserved, even a little shy. And in the tranquility of our little hideaway, she blooms.

I am transfixed, and utterly reluctant to break the spell. But we're losing the light.

"Jo, uh. I think she said we need to get the back too," I say, and Katniss spins to face the window. The gloom is gathering outside the window, chasing the orange and amber light. I adjust my reflector, trying to take advantage of the last bits of natural light. And when I glance back, Katniss has lifted her hands above her head, resting against the glass. Partly silhouetted, she's all long limbs and clean lines, as evocative as any Vogue model ever could be.

Her legs, encased in those hot-as-sin boots, stretch on forever, disappearing under a skirt that's too tiny to even be called clothing. And above that, inches of undulating spine bared to my greedy eyes as her top pulls upward. Fuck, she's hot.

I snap a few pictures, adjusting my aperture to the light. Then Katniss arches her back. It's an innocent movement, designed probably to work out a kink in her spine. But it has the unintended consequence of lifting that ridiculous skirt just a little higher. Exposing just a hint of ass cheek, gently rounded and smooth as silk. Alluring and enticing.

Absolutely nothing like an adolescent boy.

A sordid vision of grabbing those sweet swells as I thrust into her, pressed against the cold window glass, flashes before my eyes and I groan. I can't help it. As I lose the battle I've been waging for an hour against my recalcitrant dick, the pained little moan that escapes me catches her attention. Her eyes meet mine in the window reflection. For a moment we simply stare at each other.

Then she smirks.

Her eyes never leaving mine, she arches more, the skirt lifts almost to the point of obscenity, bare millimeters of fabric hiding her charms. I'm fairly certain that she's not wearing panties. I'm nearly hyperventilating, watching her face in the window, watching her ass sway just slightly, clicking the shutter remote convulsively. The vixen reflected in the window glass bites her lip, then her tongue sneaks out, swiping along the sting, leaving a glossy slick in its wake. Those perfect peach lips purse, then form my name. "Peeta," reflection-Katniss whispers, the word a puff of fog condensing on the glass. Silver eyes beckon, I'm powerless to resist.

She turns just slightly to look at me over her shoulder, eyes hooded and so fucking sexy. I click off a few more frames of her come-hither stare, of her sweet ass and firm breasts and long, long legs silhouetted by the sunset. Then she whispers my name again.

I go to her.

She's still facing the window, hands against the glass when I stand behind her, not quite touching her. "You are so sexy," I rasp in her ear, and she shudders, pressing backwards, closing the space between us. My arm wraps around her waist as naturally as in my dreams, palm splaying over her flat stomach, the skin warm and soft under my fingers. I lean into her, burying my face in the silken cloud of her hair. She smells like the woods, and a meadow of wildflowers. She smells like home.

"Like what you see?" she murmurs, her voice deeper than usual, husky and hot. I groan again, thrusting just a bit against the small of her back so she can feel just how much I like it. She sighs and tilts her head sideways, baring that sweet spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and I don't resist.

Each open-mouthed kiss I press into her hot skin evokes another sigh, a little wiggle of her hips. She reaches up and slides her fingers through my hair, tugging and I thrust against her again, harder. She moans, and I can feel the sound in my dick, throbbing for her.

Though her hand remains firmly entwined in my hair, I free my own to explore, skimming along hot skin and cool leather to cup one perfect breast. My name is a breathless plea on her lips, and the words I've always struggled with around her spill out. "I have wanted you ever since I first noticed girls were different than boys," I murmur. "Have always dreamed of touching you like this. It's always been you." Then I slide my hand into that ridiculous bustier.

Her head tips back, landing on my shoulder, her sharp pants caress my cheek and I squeeze and stoke her breast, firm and perfectly proportioned. Real. "Do you want me?" I whisper, lust and vulnerability battling in my voice.

"Yes," she sighs, the first thing she's said other than my name. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to mark her and she mewls. Then she's pulling away, leaving me confused and horror-struck. But just as quickly she spins, I catch a glimpse of her silver eyes flickering like candles before her body is again pressed to mine, hands back in my hair, tugging me to her.

Kissing Katniss Everdeen is the most incredible experience of my life so far. Her lips are soft but demanding, controlling. And I meet her stroke for stroke, tasting and exploring. Her hand slip from my hair, slide down to wrap around my neck and I draw her closer, cradling her against me. She slows our kiss, drawing back, tapering to soft pecks, until we're simply holding each other, lips brushing languidly, intimately. "Go out with me," I whisper. She nods.

The quiet beep of a keycard pulls us apart. Johanna. She wanders in, less blustery than before, but smirks when she sees us standing so close. "Did you get my pictures, Breadboy, or is your camera card full of porn for the spank bank?"

I snort, she's teasing, but I have to bite back the urge to tell her it's a little of both. Katniss groans. "Are you ever not vulgar?" She scowls at Jo, who is chuckling now. Then she turns those murcury eyes back to mine. "Have you eaten?" It's barely a whisper, shy and uncertain, as if I hadn't just had my hand in her shirt and my tongue down her throat.

I shake my head and she shrugs, needing, I think, for me to make the next move. "There's a great diner, not far from here. Do you want to get dinner together?" Please say yes, I chant in my head. She nods.

"Take off that outfit before you cream yourself all over my expensive material," Jo barks, bemused, and Katniss flips her the bird before stalking away.

I show Jo some of the earlier images on my camera back and she's genuinely pleased, even if she tries to disguise it. Then she wanders off to help Katniss while I pack up my gear.

Lost in my thoughts, when I hear his voice I don't immediately register it as real. "Mellark?" My jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of Gale Hawthorne hovering in the doorway, stupidly tall and imposing. Gale Hawthorne who Katniss dated all through high school. I haven't seen him in Twelve in at least a year and a half. Stupidly, I thought he was gone.

"Gale," I say, shaking his hand. I'm nothing if not polite.

"I didn't know you were out here, man," he says, and seems almost pleased to see me. The feeling is not mutual. I shrug. "I've only been here a few months," he says. "Moved out here to be closer to my girlfriend." He grins; I don't know if I've ever seen Hawthorne grin before. He was always so serious when we were younger. "Hey," he says. "Does Catnip know you're here?"

As if summoned, Katniss appears from the other room. "Gale!" she shouts, running to him, jumping into his arms. He laughs and spins her around, hugging her tightly. "I thought you weren't back until next week?"

My heart clenches at the sight of them. Just like in high school, they make a beautiful couple, both long and lean, attractive. And it hits me like lightning - this thing between Katniss and me? It was all for the camera.

I'm a fool.

I shove what's left of my gear into my bag haphazardly and head for the door. "Peeta?" Katniss says with confusion. "Where are you going? I thought…" she trails off. I turn to face her. She's changed out of the costume, wearing jeans and a slim black tee, the worst of the war paint scrubbed from her pretty face. Even her hair is back to normal, braided over one shoulder the way she always wore it when we were young. How many times has I sketched that braid in the margins of my notebook?

"Figured you'd want to be with Gale," I grumble, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

"Oh," her expression lightens, the little worry line softening. "I'll see him later. I'd rather spend time with you now." She slides her hands into her back pockets, which thrusts her small breasts forward. Fuck. She's gorgeous, but I don't know what kind of game she's playing, and I don't want to be a pawn in it.

"But he just got back?" She shrugs. "Don't you want to catch up with him?"

"I think he's got plans," she says, her expression wry. I'm confused as hell.

"Plans that are more important than you?" Now I'm teetering on pissed. What kind of plans could possibly be more important than your girlfriend? If she were mine, I'd make certain she knew nothing mattered more to me that her.

Katniss laughs. "I expect he wants to spend time with his girlfriend," she says, echoing my thoughts and leaving me completely perplexed. I glance over at Gale, only to find he's gone. And then, as if on cue, I hear groans from the other room. Groans clearly of the sexual variety.

What the fuck?

As the noises increase in volume, words join the mix. Jo, mostly. Clearly she's happy to see Gale. Now freed from make-up, I can see a blush steal across Katniss's cheeks. "Ugh," she says. "They're like rabbits. Let's get out of here. It's only going to get worse."

I am completely lost. She grabs my elbow, propelling me out the door. "Gale is with Jo?" I manage. Katniss nods, glancing at me as if I'm a little slow. "He's not with you?"

Katniss stops dead in the hallway and snorts, the strangest little noise, cute and unfettered. "Gross, Peeta. Gale is my cousin. And this isn't Kentucky."

"In high school?" I say, and she laughs.

"Was my cousin then too."

"You were always together."

"Well yeah, he was pretty much the only one who'd put up with me." She shrugs. "I didn't have many friends."

"He might have been part of the reason why," I grumble. And she laughs, just lightly. But she sobers quickly.

"Do you really think if I had a boyfriend I'd have kissed you? I'm not like that."

Deep down, I know that's true. "I just thought, I don't know. We were in our own world, and I came onto you pretty hard." I drop my gaze to the plush carpet. "I guess I thought maybe it wasn't real."

"Peeta," she breathes, and echoes of our photo shoot flood my mind, make my dick twitch. She steps closer, looking up at me through lashes just as thick without all of the goop on them. I can see a smattering of faint freckles scattered across her nose. "Do you know why I come into the bakery so often?" she asks, her words skating over my lips. I can almost taste the answer.

"You really like cheese buns?" She laughs again, soft puffs of pleasure that tease my senses.

"That too," she admits. "But mostly I come to see you." She reaches for my free hand, twines our fingers together. "I only agreed to model for Jo when she said it was her friend Peeta who would be taking the pictures."

I swallow hard at her confession. "Really?" She nods. "Is this real?"

"Real," she says.


End file.
